


Winter in Riga

by A_French_Ship



Series: My ignorance of the simplest things [2]
Category: James Bond (Movies), James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1910s, Eastern Europe, Ficlet, First Meetings, First Mission, Kinktober 2019, M/M, One Shot, Pining, Pre-JAQ, Prequel, Sharing a Room, World War I, before JAQ, first mission together, my weak and late contribution to kinktober
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-03 02:07:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21171656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_French_Ship/pseuds/A_French_Ship
Summary: Riga, 1919.The young James goes to Latvia and meets his Russian contact, the even younger Aleksandr who is said to be promoted to the status of 00-agent in the near future.Egos come into play, along with something else.





	Winter in Riga

**Author's Note:**

> This is a one-shot which is part of a JAQ (aka 00Q00) series called "My ignorance of the simplest things". Go check it out!  
You don't need to have read it since this short fic is a prequel.

_Riga, 1919._

When the SIS had warned him about the particularly boastful behaviour of his contact in Riga, James wouldn’t have expected worse. He could work with old geezers, patronising former generals, in comparison to whom M seemed perfectly sociable, but Aleksandr – as the young man liked to be called – was the most annoying character James had encountered in his still short career as an operative.

Rumour had it M wanted to promote him, turning him into the new 006 since Peter had died in the Somme two years earlier. 00-agents were allowed a very brief period of mourning apparently, James liked to think with a sardonic smile, wondering how long it would take M to designate a new 007 after his death.

The difference being that James had no one to mourn him, no parents, very few friends whom he kept at bay, pretending to work as an accountant in Covent Garden, no lover. His affairs were brief and most of the time linked to a mission. When he was back in London, James was more often than not too exhausted to get out of bed and try to woo anyone into _their_ bed. He had scars on his chest and wounds in different states of healing, as many things to attract unwanted attention and bothersome questions. James’s life out of the SIS was the ghost of a life.

So notwithstanding his two-year-long experience as an agent, James knew fairly well who was cut from the same cloth as the best agents, and ultimately who would never be. And this Russian fellow was not suited for the job. Too young, too cocky. And this in spite of his obvious mastering of several languages – at least four, James had counted, even though Aleksandr kept on pretending he didn’t understand James’s English when convenient.

It was outrageous how a man could take liberties to that extent. Several times his impertinence, his urge to show off had threatened the mission, their covers and thus the life of many civilians. In the course of three days, the young Aleksandr had made eyes at so many women James had lost track, he had small-talked with many poor queueing in the breadline before St. Peter’s Church, being too specific in the information he gave to their witnesses or too hasty not to draw attention. On top of that he never took into account the great remonstrances James addressed him, calling him ‘smug’ – his favourite expression apparently – or ‘bossy’. James secretly waited for the moment Aleksandr would scuttle the mission and be duly sacked by the SIS. And replaced by one of those grumbling old men James was used to.

For if M had always described James as an ‘insolent little shite’, he paled in comparison to the potentially future 006. 

Yet the life he seemed to lead as a field agent in Eastern Europe didn’t look affected by the many dangers he encountered every day. Like a spectre, Aleksandr looked unbothered, a stranger to the sword of Damocles hanging over his head.

And there they were, stuck in a shabby hotel room in the outskirts of town, waiting for the snow to melt, their train to Jelgava, where a billionaire, a nostalgic of the Russian Empire, was casually financing German militiamen and enjoying the forced company of a British princess whose joining the Red Cross during the war had led this far away on the continent.

James wondered if the girl would be found alive or not and each day waiting for a clearing of the railways threatened to jeopardise their mission.

“You’re exaggerating,” Aleksandr laughed at the sight of James rolled in a blanket, shivering on the bed. For the sake of their cover, the SIS had not booked the best hotel in Riga and the wood-burner surely wasn’t _burning_ enough.

James looked at the other young man standing before him. He looked just out of childhood, some spots overstaying their welcome on his cheeks.

James himself was not very old, except he felt quite old. And he was definitely wiser than this boy. A smug part of the British man led him to consider his temporary associate with disdain – the probability was high that Aleksandr had not seen half of the things James had seen on the battlefield. This young man, despite his rough appearance and the ease with which he addressed beggars in the street, surely had it easy.

“It’s not that cold, come on,” Aleksandr said with a snort, his rather authentic Yorkshire accent driving James mad. He opened the window and checked the thermometre outside, snorting again. “Only minus six,” he concluded, but James was sure it was blatant provocation. “They told me you were a soldier, you’re far from being tough though.”

James rolled his eyes. “And they told me you were Russian.”

“But that I am,” Aleksandr protested with a smile.

James believed him. Earlier in the day, the younger man had spoken Russian with an old man in the street, before jumping to what might have been Latvian in the railway station - once more with an ease which had left James equally baffled and irritated -, before he had joked with one of the hotel maids, tried to seduce her in the corridor, using his linguistic skills as much as his cheeky smile.

James had to confess he understood the maid very much.

“You’ve been to England,” he stated, looking at his associate straight in the eyes.

“Of course I did,” Aleksandr nodded, deeply amused by his attempts and the fact that James was having a hard time recovering from the coldness of the room, wrapped in the extra blanket the maid had brought to them for the ‘English man’. “I met M a couple of times.”

“That’s not it,” James accused, losing his temper, when he caught sight of the young Russian’s casually pouring himself a cup of boiling hot water from a queer little kettle-thing.

“Tea?”

James agreed eagerly.

“That’s not it,” he repeated after a swallow of the dark brown liquid inside his cup. Way stronger than anything he had tasted out of the UK.

Aleksandr hummed in reply, dismissive as always when personal or serious things were concerned. He sat on the bed next to James, even though another was available. His body radiated a pleasant warmth and James came to think he wasn’t entirely mad about his presence there after all.

“Are you always so inquisitive?”

James shrugged, both of his hands enjoying the heat coming from the cup of tea.

“I thought special agents had to be discreet. That’s what M told me when I started to work for her. Not that I particularly like to talk about myself.”

“Although you _do_ talk a great deal,” James deadpanned, blowing on the surface of his tea before taking another swallow of it.

Aleksandr laughed out loud, more genuinely amused for the first time since they had met three days prior in a strange little bar in the city centre. James looked at the side of his face, noticing a few cuts left by his last shaving and the still boyish shape of his mouth contrasting with a strongly-chiselled jawline. Maturity asserted itself on his face in an odd combination of sternness and candour. James realised they surely produced the same sort of effect on people, both of them thrown in a world that surpassed them. Or so he supposed.

“How did you come in touch with the SIS?”

The Russian man turned to James, observing him with his deep green eyes. If he had used the same look with the maid earlier, James had no doubt she had given them the warmest blanket of the hotel.

“How did you?” He returned the question with mischief.

James had no problem with this part of his story. “I’ve been decorated after the war.”

Aleksandr whistled sarcastically. “I expected no less.” His words lost in mirth, James noticed, as if there were a secret agreement between them about the matter. Maybe the Russian boy had not partaken in the war, but nobody would go as far as mocking a veteran.

Without further ado, Aleksandr took his revolver off his belt and proceeded to take it to pieces and to thoroughly clean it, probably out of boredom. James observed him, noting he was apparently used to such a task – his motions were precise and swift, his fingers travelling from one spot to the other, not hesitation for a second. Then he put it back together with the same ease and pointed it towards the door, adjusting his shot with

“You’re not joining the maid?” James asked, his calm voice suddenly breaking when he needled the other.

Aleksandr smiled, echoing the challenge in his partner’s timber. His revolver was still pointed towards the door, as he replied, “Vilma?”. James shrugged, his eyes fixed on the tip of Aleksandr’s barrel. “No,” he sighed, as though it had always been obvious he wouldn’t and thought James knew that. “I don’t want to _draw attention_,” he added, before putting the revolver on the nightstand.

The words were those James used with him, so the blond smiled in his cup of tea, not telling him that the simple fact that an attractive man like him would refuse the company of a young woman like Vilma, whom he had chased after for the whole night, was _precisely_ what was likely to draw attention.

Moreover James expected Aleksandr to be some sort of sensual beast, never saying no to any kind of pleasure, be it alcohol – James had witnessed the ease with which he could down half a dozen of glasses of local vodka without any colour reaching his cheeks – or women.

But in the end he was relieved he had not gone after the maid. There was a tinge of bitterness that floated in his stomach every time he saw his Russian contact using of his charm to obtain something. During their walk to the hotel along the river in the snow, James had reflected on the feeling, wondering if it were because Aleksandr was too young in his opinion to be whoring for information _or _– and that idea was unsettling, not because James was foreign to that kind of affection, but because his associate was tremendously annoying – if he had developed a sense of possession over his youth and raw beauty.

“You didn’t answer my question,” said the double-0 agent after a few seconds of silence.

“What question?”

Once again he caught the green lightning of Aleksandr’s eyes when the latter turned around to cast him a confused look, one of his only reactions that did not require a witty comment.

“How did you join the SIS, Aleksandr,” James repeated, the name sounding rough on his tongue – no matter how many times he had pronounced it before, each syllables felt foreign in his mouth.

“Alec,” the other replied. “Brits call me Alec.” James nodded, still not satisfied. “Aren’t you afraid I might betray you if you tell me too much about yourself?” James shook his head, so far he had not told anything compromising to… Alec. “I moved to England when I was younger. The SIS soon realised there was plenty of advantages to have a Slavic man among themselves. I’m not the only one, you know.”

James knew. “You’re the only one who may become a double-0 agent.”

“Don’t be so smug, James, I’m as capable as any of you,” he swaggered again, but James was afraid he might be right.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Along with my main fic, I think I'll be updating little insights of James's and Alec's past (and probably some about Q too) Stay tuned, lovelies.  
Comments and kudos warm my Mr-Freeze heart (just saying)


End file.
